Transporter is a Stupid Name
by The Path of Supreme Conquest
Summary: Dick and Jason lose their little brothers. Robin finds them.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

 **Summary:** Dick and Jason lose their little brothers. Robin finds them.

 **Notes:** This probably won't update again until I've finished Grade School, but this has been sitting on my Desktop, so…

Also, don't expect this to have any strict continuity. Comic wise, it's after Dick and Damian are reunited, and after Jason and Roy split, but sort of ignores everything in between and a few other things that happen before – it's sort of wonky. For YJ, it's before anyone finds out about Roy and just sort of exists in that time period, not set between any specific episodes.

* * *

Dick struggled to keep his voice light. "Well, we _were_ looking for a fight."

"This isn't a fight, 'Wing," Jason spat.

Dick frowned, but couldn't disagree.

Patrol had been absurdly slow – not that that was a bad thing, but it got boring after a while. He, Jason, Tim, and Damian had met up on a rooftop to complain about the ridiculously low crime rates (not that Dick had been complaining. He had been laughing at Jason and Damian, both of whom had been _this_ close to throwing temper tantrums about the lack of people to fight), when a beam of light had been shot into the sky.

Being the responsible vigilantes that they were, they had (literally) raced to the docks (Dick had won), where the beam had originated from. And then they had come face to face with "Transporter", an amateur villain with a weapon he didn't know how to use but insisted on using anyway. He wouldn't be hard to fight, except he was trigger-happy with bad aim and a bone to pick with the world. The worst kind of villain.

(After this was over, they would head back to the Cave and get into an argument about the worst sort of villain. Dick would stand by his comment about amateurs, Jason and Tim would gang up on him and say that experienced villains were the worst, and Damian would roll his eyes and say that the only villains worth talking about were the ones that didn't exist. And that would spiral into a completely different conversation when Tim decided he would jump on Damian's logical fallacy, and the conversation would turn into an argument, and Dick and Jason would make bets over who would storm off in a huff first. Dick couldn't wait to get home.)

So here they were, the four of them circling Transporter (what a terrible name. Dick would give him advice on how to pick a better villain's name when they had taken that stupid weapon of his. He would probably give him advice on how to pick a costume too – pleather and a ski mask? Horrible wardrobe choice.), just waiting for the opportunity to disarm him and end this… not-fight.

"Can I stab him?" Damian muttered, dodging a beam from the gun – cannon? – ray? – what was it?

Tim snorted. "If you can get that close."

Tim must have been really frustrated if he was missing the opportunity to make a comment about Damian having his katana with him. He never passed that up.

"Maybe we can leave him for the cops?" Dick suggested, needlessly flipping out of the way of the next shot. It wouldn't have even hit him.

(Bruce would have chided him about wasting energy. But Bruce wasn't at the docks dealing with Gotham's newest villain. Bruce was completing the rest of his uneventful patrol on the other side of the city. Dick could be on the other side of the city too, but he had decided to meet his brothers on a rooftop to goof off.)

(Even Bruce's "How many times do I have to tell you…" lecture would be better than this.)

"No," Jason snarled. "We're ending this. No wannabe psycho is going beat us in some ridiculous game of laser tag! Why haven't we beat him yet? There's four of us!"

( _And_ Jason was emotionally invested now. This wasn't going to be over until the guy was black and blue and probably in a full body cast. And sporting a stab wound, because Damian was bound to be willing to help.)

(Even Jim's exasperated "Unnecessary brutality…" lecture and disappointed "Really, Nightwing?" look would be better than this.)

Tim sighed. "Maybe we should consider a strategy instead of just dodging his random shots?"

Dick frowned in Tim's direction, cursing when the momentary distraction had him diving out of the way of a beam that got too close. No one could blame him, though. Tim sounded tired.

(And not patrol-has-gone-on-too-long tired. He sounded I-haven't-slept-in-three-days-and-I'm-running-on-actual-coffee-grounds-mixed-with-energy-drinks-and-spite tired.)

"What do you have in mind, Red Robin?"

"A distraction, maybe? I'll even volunteer myself."

"Simple," Damian scoffed.

"Classic," Tim corrected.

There was barely any heat in that exchange. This had really been going on too long.

"Sounds good to me," Dick commented. "Hood?"

"Yeah, whatever. Let's just get this done."

Tim nodded. He threw a batarang at Transporter, hitting the weapon in his hands. The projectile ricocheted (the weapon was huge. Transporter wasn't that big of guy; Dick wondered how he was carrying that without dropping from exhaustion), but it was enough to catch Transporter's attention. He swung around to face Tim and began spouting off _another_ version of his patented monologue. Dick was so tired of hearing it.

Thankfully, that was their cue.

Dick idly wondered if Jason had replaced his magazine full of rubber bullets with a magazine full of real ones. He hoped not, but Dick was sure he wouldn't be able to blame him. (He'd turned his escrima sticks' electricity on, which was completely unnecessary.) (Dick was feeling vindictive.)

They were close, so close. Barely five meters away from him and he had his back turned. Damian was approaching as well, running faster than either of them and looking ready to hack into Transporter as viciously as possible without killing him.

(Turns out, that would be pretty viciously. Half a year ago, some guy had gotten the drop on Dick, managing to shoot him in the leg. The bullet had only grazed him, but Damian had been… upset. The thug had lost two non-vital organs, and needed a blood transfusion and a prosthetic hand. Bruce had benched Damian for 2 months and given him a speech about proportional reactions. Dick had tried not to feel touched.)

(He'd failed.)

Then, Transporter got bored of talking.

They were ten feet away. And Transporter got bored talking.

He cut himself off abruptly, pulling the trigger. Shooting his stupid weapon.

Straight at Tim.

Tim dodged to the side. Too slow. The beam grazed him.

Dick was frozen, staring at the space his little brother had been occupying only a second ago.

(The beam had encompassed Tim, even though it had barely touched him. The look on Tim's face had been stunned. It'd only touched the tips of his fingers. A lucky shot. And Tim was too slow after two/three/who-knew-how-many days of no sleep.)

Dick couldn't breathe.

Transporter (the name was slightly less stupid now. How hadn't Dick noticed that all of the shots they'd dodged had hit crates lying on the docks, causing them to disappear? Where had his head been? How hadn't he seen that?) crowed. He was gloating. Saying something about power and conquering.

Dick couldn't care less.

His little brother had _vanished_.

Dick couldn't breathe.

"What did you do?"

* * *

Tim didn't stop to breathe. He didn't stop to sigh, and rub the bridge of his nose, and bemoan his terrible luck and utter stupidity. He didn't stop to throw a tantrum (even though he really, really wanted to). Tim didn't stop.

Tim was a Bat, and he had too much pride and too much training to bother with stopping and taking a minute to reorient himself.

Because when Bats are thrown into combat situations, they fight. Prior warning optional.

So Tim fought. And he observed.

(Multitasking on three days no sleep and a mostly empty stomach. Bruce would be proud except he would probably be pissed. Tim was pissed at himself. It was stupid of him. So stupid. He needed to take better care of himself. If he didn't, he was going to get himself benched. Or killed. …Or caught in a beam from a ray gun in the hands of an _amateur._ )

(He was never going to live this down. If he made it back alive.)

(He needed to stop being so morbid. It was really distracting.)

There were a lot of thugs around. A startling number, really. And they belonged to Black Mask. That much was obvious. Their objective: unknown. Threat level… they barely registered.

He was still at the docks in Gotham. There was barely any change in scenery. But he was obviously in an alternate universe.

It was painfully easy to see. Because – in between knocking people out with his staff, disarming them with batarangs, and doling out nerve strikes they were bullets and he was Jason – he could see people he knew, but really didn't know.

He needed to process, needed to think. He could still do that and fight. Easily.

There was Superboy. But not Kon. This Superboy didn't seem to have TTK and he was way too angry – more like a less ruthless Damian than, well, Kon. Threat level: low. Tim had Kryptonite in his utility belt.

Someone he didn't know. Obviously affiliated with Green Arrow if the color scheme and choice of weapon were anything to go by. She had noticed him nearly as soon as he had arrived. She'd kept fighting, but only after she'd stopped to gape. And her next few shots had missed their targets before she'd recovered. She was well trained – he'd guess League of Assassins (he should know). That was strange – or not. All things considered, running into an Arrow trained by the League of Assassins was the most normal part of his day. (Which wasn't saying much.) Threat level: Low. He knew how to cut the string of her bow, and he could tell from here that she wouldn't be able to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Knocking her unconscious wouldn't take much work.

Someone else he didn't know. But, judging by the way he was manipulating water and the symbol on his belt, he was Atlantian. That could be tricky; Tim didn't know the extent of his powers. And, he seemed much calmer and more in control that the archer. He'd noticed Tim almost immediately as well. He'd paused to stare, but gone back to fighting shortly after, with little to no detriment to his concentration. And Tim doubted it was because he trusted him. Threat level: Medium. Getting the weapons out of his hands would be first priority. Then drying him out. Tim had an explosive batarang that was more fire and heat than anything else (like all good explosives). It would serve as a good distraction to give Tim the opportunity to knock him out if the blast didn't do the job itself.

(Distraction. No. Better not to think about that. Tim couldn't afford it.)

Wally. Kid Flash. It was slightly difficult for Tim to reconcile a young Wally West working with Superboy, but _alternate universes._ He was running around, barely stopping. Not knocking most of them out in one hit, but coming back around multiple times. Waste of energy. So like him. Did he have anything on him to take out a Flash? He could use the sedative in his utility belt that was meant for Bane. It'd work in a pinch. Threat level: Low. Timing was the only issue, and Tim wasn't too worried about that.

(Maybe he should be. He'd gotten tagged. _By an amateur!_ )

(He _needed_ to stop thinking about that.)

Was that-? A Martian. They had a Martian. Great. Just what he needed. If she was anything like J'onn then that meant shapeshifting, intangibility, invisibility, and telepathic and telekinetic abilities. Threat level: High. Disabling her would be first priority. If she tried invading his mind, it would be relatively easy to take her down – training to protect against telepaths had been high up on the list of Things Tim Needs to Learn if He's Going to Be Robin. If she didn't… He could always light her on fire. That was a bit brutal, but he'd do it if it came down to it. He didn't have anything specific to Martian physiology in his belt, but he'd be able to make do.

And then… there was Robin. And he was obviously Robin. He'd noticed Tim right off the bat (Dick was infecting him), and he'd barely flinched. The costume he was wearing wasn't anything any of them had ever worn, but, if Tim had to make a comparison, he would say it was closest to his. But that wasn't him. Definitely not. The way he moved, the way he fought – he was too showy, too many extraneous flips and complicated maneuvers, just for fun, just because he could. That was all Dick. Threat level: Extremely High. Maybe it was biased of him to be warier of Robin than anyone else, but, then again, he was one of the few people who actually knew what a Robin was _fully_ capable of. And though he had the advantage of knowing Dick's moves and fighting style – neither of which appeared to have changed with the universe – this was still Robin. And if Tim had to fight them all, there was no way this universe's Dick wouldn't find a way to take advantage of even the slightest lapse in attention and take him out.

This was looking bad.

The gang had thinned. There were only a few left, and the fight was winding down. He didn't have much longer. He needed to finish running through this.

How would this go?

Superboy would attack first, the second he noticed him. Tim could read the reckless anger coming off of him like computer code. He wouldn't wait for orders, and he wouldn't care that Tim had been fighting alongside them – if he'd even noticed in the first place. And Tim wouldn't be able to pull out Kryptonite unless he wanted to face them all.

If, by chance, the leader (it should be Robin – it was always Robin – but it was obviously the Atlantian) managed to call him off, there would be suspicion, threats, and a mild interrogation. Which would be followed by their attempts to knock him unconscious in order to kidnap him and bring him back to their base and interrogate him fully.

The only other course of action they could take would be to call a member of the League for assistance. That was highly unlikely.

So, he needed to preclude them from acting.

Which meant he would have to make the first move.

As soon as the fighting stopped (that would be soon; he needed to think faster), Tim needed to lower – not drop – his weapon and speak. Nothing longwinded or misleading. He'd have to be blunt about the situation. It would throw them off guard long enough for him to press his advantage and show them that he wasn't a threat (at least not until they made him one. But if they couldn't figure that out, he'd severely overestimated them all. Especially the Robin.) and hopefully gain their (mistrustful) assistance.

A leg sweep and downward swipe of his staff finished off the last thug.

Tim took a breath, lowered his staff, and raised his other hand in the (hopefully) universal symbol for peace. "Hi. I'm from another universe and I could use your help getting back."

* * *

"Hi. I'm from another universe and I could use your help getting back."

Dick noticed Conner falter in his barely begun charge.

" _Huh?"_

" _Did he just say another universe?"_ Wally asked, his incredulity coming in clearly, even through the mind link.

" _Pay attention. He's talking again!"_ Artemis hissed.

"I'm a vigilante – hero – like you guys, apparently. I was fighting a villain on the docks of my Gotham, but he had a weapon that transported me here as soon as the beam coming from it hit me. I don't want to cause any trouble. I just want to get home."

Dick cocked an eyebrow, looking the stranger up and down. He definitely _looked_ like a vigilante. And not _just_ a vigilante.

Dick stiffened, paying more attention. The armor, the utility belt, the way he was holding himself, the fact that he'd been fighting in Gotham…

But, maybe Dick was jumping to conclusions. The guy did say he'd come from an alternate universe.

" _Do we believe him about the alternate universe thing?"_ Dick asked.

" _Let's find out,"_ Kaldur replied.

Kaldur stepped forward and crossed his arms (establishing authority. Nice.). "An alternate universe?"

There was a dry quirk to the stranger's lips that set Dick on edge. Or maybe it was just the guy. Dick didn't think he'd relax until he was sure about who this guy was. As sure as he could be, anyway.

(And maybe not even then. The guy was dangerous. The way he fought, even the way he was standing. Relaxing would be… difficult.)

He dipped his head slightly, one hand still raised in the air. "Yes. I was fighting one villain on the docks in Gotham with three of my allies, I was hit by the beam, and suddenly, I was fighting a hoard of thugs with a group of young heroes on the same docks in Gotham. I can't imagine this is anything else."

"Yeah?" Wally challenged. "How do you know you're not in the past? Or the future?"

Wally was being excessively hostile. He was probably hungry.

The guy raised an eyebrow through his cowl (Dick had a lot of practice reading facial expressions through cowls) and shook his head.

"No. I know you all – well, most of you." He paused, looking at each of them. "In my world, Superboy is my age and we work together."

The scowl on Conner's face was somehow deeper than normal. Dick was actually impressed.

"Kid Flash is a lot older. So is… Robin. I don't know the rest of you."

Dick frowned, crossing his arms. He had paused before saying Robin. What did that mean?

"Uhh… that definitely sounds like an alternate universe," Wally conceded, scratching the back of his head.

"Indeed," Kaldur murmured. "Well, I am Aqualad, that is Artemis, and that is Miss Martian. Who are you? Perhaps we know your alternate self in this universe."

Another raised brow at Kaldur's introduction. Another smirk at his question. This guy was _really_ setting him on edge.

"I doubt it," he said. But he was looking straight at Dick.

Dick couldn't help tensing. He didn't know what was coming. What was this guy going to say? Was Dick even ready to hear it?

"But I guess I do owe you an introduction, especially since I'm asking you guys to help me out. I'm Red Robin."

There was complete silence.

Dick was having trouble processing. _Red Robin_?! What did that mean?

"Wait!" Artemis interject. "Red Robin as in Robin? Like Robin-Robin?"

"No. Red Robin as in Red Robin."

He was still looking at Dick.

(Dick looked back at him. But he didn't want to look at him. He was probably overreacting. He was definitely overreacting. But how was he supposed to process this? Yeah, the guy was from another universe, and it didn't really matter who he was, but still…)

(Red _Robin_.)

"But that's-"

"No biggie, Miss M," Dick interrupted, making sure his posture and voice were relaxed. "You work with Batman?"

(Dick was so chalant right now, it wasn't even funny. But he hoped he wasn't coming off that way. Indifference and amusement. That's what he was going for.)

"Yeah," Red Robin replied breezily.

(This was no big deal for him.)

(Except for the part where he was in another universe. Dick assumed that that was a pretty big deal. Only Red Robin wasn't acting like it was a big deal. He seemed really calm.)

(That was even more unnerving than the idea of him working with Batman and being any sort of Robin.)

(Maybe.)

"But don't worry," he continued, not sounding like he really cared if Dick worried at all. "You're still around in my world."

"How would you know that?" Conner grunted, crossing his arms. "He's wearing a mask. Maybe our Robin if different than yours."

The look on Red Robin's face was impossible to read. Not because of the cowl, or because it was a complicated expression. It was because his face had gone completely blank. There was literally nothing to read. It was so like Bruce it was scary.

(Dick wondered if Red Robin was Bruce's kid. Like, his bilogical kid.)

(The thought was terrifying.)

"Could be," he replied evenly.

His tone was so bland. There was no way he wasn't being sarcastic.

(Dick was hard pressed not to laugh.)

(And then he growled at himself. Why was he trying so hard not to like this guy? If he kept this attitude up, he'd only be showing how pointlessly affected he was by Red Robin's presence.)

(Next time the guy made a joke, Dick would laugh.)

(But only if it was funny.)

Dick paused, blinking and cocking his head. "Wait. So you're saying you know who I am? How can you be sure?"

"I've worked with your counterpart for years. Your fighting style is exactly the same, even in another universe. You've always been prone to showboating - performing. I blame your roots," he said, smirking

Dick scoffed, but smirked back. An extremely subtle way of indicating his secret identity. Impressive. He could see why Bruce and his other self didn't mind working him.

(There was also the fact that Red Robin was an incredibly capable fighter. But, details.)

"Perhaps," Kaldur began, "we can discuss this later. It would be better to get back to base. We still have to tell Batman about the results of our mission – as well as ask for advice on how to go about returning Red Robin to his proper universe."

"Point," Dick said. "Miss M?"

"Hmm?" she turned to him blinking. "Oh! Right. I'll call the bioship."

"So," Red Robin said, still speaking directly to Dick. "Batman lets you and your team work in Gotham? I guess this version of him is less bothered by metas in his city."

"Eh, he's still pretty bothered by it, but it's Gotham. It's the best training grounds."

"If you can handle Gotham crime, you can handle anything?"

"Basically."

Dick grinned at the half-smile on Red Robin's face.

(Finally someone who wasn't Bruce got it.)

( _It was Gotham._ )

"Uh, okay, can you two continue your bat-bromance later?"

"For once, I agree with Kid Mouth. I don't feel like dealing with this."

Dick snickered at the look on Artemis' face. This was going to be fun. He didn't know why he had been so leery of Red Robin in the first place.

(Okay, he did. But it had been a completely natural reaction to being faced with someone who could be a threat and then turned out to be another Robin. There was nothing wrong with that.)

"All right," M'gann said. "The ship's here. Ready?"

"I was born ready, babe."

"Wow. That was legitimately disturbing."

Dick laughed. "Wasn't it? It's like he doesn't have any new material; I've heard that line over a hundred times!"

"Seriously? Are you two bonding over mocking me?"

Dick turned to Wally. If his friend thought _that_ was mocking, Dick was obviously losing his touch. He opened his mouth, intending to comment on how easily exploitable Wally was (and really, it was just embarrassing. Wally was Dick's best friend; it was shameful that he hadn't learned to hide his weaknesses yet.), but froze.

"You okay, Rob?"

Dick pointed behind Wally, vaguely registering the fact that everyone was turning to look. Good. He wanted to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"Another one?!"

* * *

Miraculously, it only took Jason's brain a second to restart. The first thing he did was wish that he'd put real bullets in his gun. The second thing he did was curse Tim for being an idiot, because this was obviously his fault. The third thing he did was turn to Damian because the kid was freaking him out.

"What did you do?"

Jason had never been scared of Damian before. He wasn't scared now. But, he had to admit, if he were ever _going_ to be scared of Damian, now would be the time.

Damian's stance was loose, his tone was casual, and the look on his face was more openly curious than it had ever been. (Damian had once asked Dick to show him proper form on the uneven bars. He had been glowering the whole time.) He looked lethal.

(To be fair, Damian looked lethal majority of the time.)

(But now was different. This sort of lethal… Jason had never seen it on Damian.)

Transporter turned to them, eyes wide and smile wider. "For the first time, I have achieved ultimate greatness. I have displaced a human! I've finally begun to tap into the full potential of my power!"

He was rambling now. Jason wanted to shoot him in the mouth. He was pretty sure Damian would beat him to the punch and impale the guy in the throat.

(Transporter didn't seem to have a sense of self-preservation. That had been obvious from the beginning of the night, but it was even more obvious now.)

"What," Damian repeated, stepping forward (His eyes were narrowed now, and his voice was cold. He looked like he was going to attack without waiting for an answer.), "did you do?"

Transporter faltered, taking a step back. (His sense of self-preservation was finally kicking in.) (Too little too late.) "I- I have achieved-"

"WHERE IS HE!?"

Transporter was going to wet himself, and Jason would laugh. Except he probably wouldn't get the chance because Transporter would likely be dead before his bladder fully emptied.

(If Jason could, he would take a minute to tease Damian over the fact that he was getting riled up over Tim's disappearance. This was Tim, not Dick or Bruce or anyone else. But Damian looked ready to paint the docks red with Transporter's blood. All for Tim. When this was over and they got Tim back, Jason would make sure to tell him all about Damian's reaction.)

(Because they _were_ getting Tim back. Jason wouldn't entertain the idea that they wouldn't.)

"Talk, you insouciant cretin, or I will make you! You think I can't beat the truth out of you? I can and I will!"

Jason cringed. Damian wasn't much of an interrogator. He was very good at the intimidation and torture part of the equation, but not so good at the extracting information part.

He turned to Dick. "Nightwing…"

Dick started, making Jason wonder if he'd heard anything Damian had said in the past few minutes.

He shook his head. "Robin. Calm down."

There was a note of tension in Dick's voice. He was holding himself like he was being pulled too thin. Jason wanted to ask if Dick was still here, if he was still at the top of his game. But it would be a stupid question.

(How could he be? Tim had just vanished before their eyes, and they hadn't been able to do anything about it.)

(Jason wasn't sure he was at the top of his game either.)

(Damian might be, though.)

Damian turned to Dick briefly, teeth gritted. He looked like he was fighting himself. The part of him that couldn't help listening to Dick and the part that wanted to destroy Transporter for… taking his brother away.

(Jason knew which side he wanted to win.)

Transporter had taken another step back, and now he was rambling, voice high and words slurring together in obvious fear. Jason couldn't make out what he was saying, but, if he could, it would probably only serve to make him angrier.

"Nightwing," Jason repeated.

(They needed to do something. Damian looked ready to throw caution to the wind and rush Transporter. And Transporter was twitchier than before; he would start shooting again in a few minutes once he ran out of words. They should take this opportunity to strike. Jason might finally be able to get a shot in now that he wasn't dodging every few seconds. But they needed to coordinate. They needed a plan. Something better than a distraction.)

(When Tim got back, Jason was never going to let them live that down. How little sleep did he have to be running on to settle on "a distraction"? Honestly.)

"We take him while he's distracted. Right now."

Jason winced at Dick's wording. Dick was wincing too, gripping his escrima sticks harder. (Would they ever be able to use the word "distracted" again without faltering slightly?)

(They would. Once they got Tim back. And then they would laugh every time they said it.)

Jason nodded slightly, getting ready to run.

He was too slow.

Dick was too slow.

This was getting to be a pattern.

(And Jason hated it. Because in that moment, when he realized they were too slow, panic welled up in him and nearly ate him alive. He didn't want to watch this again. He didn't want to experience this again. He didn't even want to care that it was happening. But he did care. So here he was, for the second time that night, with a current of terror running through his body so sharply it felt like he was getting shot.)

Damian had broken into a sprint as soon as Dick had said they were going to go for it. The expression on his face was ferocious, vicious, absolutely homicidal. He looked like a bat out of hell. (When all this was over he was going to beat Dick up for letting that thought pass through his head. Dick was always the best person to blame for terrible, unintentional puns.)

Transporter obviously thought so as well. (If his pleather pants weren't soaked, Jason would give up his favorite gun.) His fight or flight instinct was apparently set on fight: he shot the beam 3 times in a row.

Damian had dodged the first two easily, barely decelerating. He'd side stepped the third, and Jason had been so sure that Damian had been in the clear (he hadn't stopped running himself, but he had been _so sure!_ ). But the beam had caught the tip of his katana.

And Damian vanished as surely as Tim had when his fingers had been grazed.

"Robin!" Jason shouted.

(But there was no one to call to. No one who could answer. Because Damian was gone.)

(Jason hoped that Damian was with Tim. The two of them fought like they were on opposite sides, but they'd look out for each other if it came down to it.)

(Jason hoped that, if it happened again, it was him who got taken. It was selfish, but he didn't want to have to feel panic a third time, watching Dick disappear. He didn't want to be the last one here.)

Transporter was laughing. Jason didn't think there were words to describe how angry he was right now. He took a step forward.

He was too slow.

But, this time, it was a good thing. (Relatively.)

The growl that came out of Dick's throat was Batman level serious, but the way he threw an escrima stick at Transporter, hitting him in the throat and making him crumple to the ground? The way he ran over to him, following up with a brutal punch in the jaw that finally knocked Transporter out? That was all Dick. (Startlingly, fiercely protective and vengeful Dick, who loved his little brothers so much that Jason was sure that's what would one day make him cross the line and never look back.)

(Today wasn't that day.)

Dick collapsed, falling to his knees and cradling his head in his hands. He was rocking back and forth, his breathing too quick, too shallow. Jason holstered his (useless, useless, _useless_ ) guns and walked over to him, kneeling next to him.

"Nightwing-"

"Why didn't I do that sooner? Why didn't I think of that? Why didn't I do it as soon as we saw him? I could've stopped him, I could've stopped him. They'd still be here! They'd still be here. But now they're gone. I can't- I don't know where they are. They're gone-"

Jason wasn't big on physical affection, didn't really like anything more than ruffling hair, but he couldn't help wrapping Dick in his arms.

(They were in costume at the docks, kneeling over the unconscious body of the man who'd made Tim and Damian disappear. And Jason was hugging Dick. Because he needed it.)

(They both needed it, even if Jason would never admit it.)

"Calm down," Jason ordered, voice too sharp for the moment. (Damian would say he was overcompensating. Jason would say he was just compensating.) "We need to get out of here. And take him and his stupid weapon."

"But… Jay…"

Jason didn't even comment on Dick using his real name in the field. "You've got to keep it together if we're going to get them back. We're _going_ to get them back."

Dick pulled out of his embrace hesitantly. He didn't look all right. At all. But he was standing up, regulating his breathing.

He nodded (more times than he needed to) and took a deep breath. "Right. Just let me…" Another deep breath. "Batman? There's a situation."

Jason pushed off the ground with a scoff. That was one way of putting it.

He looked down at Transporter, a sneer on his face. Jason wanted to break every bone in his body and maybe put him in a coma too, but he was pretty sure they'd need him for information.

(But if he couldn't tell them anything – if they couldn't get Tim and Damian back… Jason would do whatever he wanted to with him. He didn't care what Bruce or Dick said.)

(Though Dick would probably help.)

"Batman'll be here in five minutes."

Jason looked over at Dick. He was pale, and Jason could tell that he looked lost, even with the mask in the way.

(Jason clenched his fists and looked in the other direction, grateful for his helmet. He was pretty sure he didn't look much better.)

Five minutes.

He wondered if they could afford to wait that long.

* * *

Damian wanted to take a moment to properly curse himself for getting caught in the ray. There was no excuse for allowing this to happen to him.

He didn't take a moment. Because there were people around. He didn't know where he was, but it was possible that the strangers would be hostile.

"Another one?!"

Damian bristled, settling into a fighting stance. That meant that Drake had been here. He needed to find him.

(Damian didn't particularly _want_ to be with Drake. Of course he didn't. But it would be better for his continued survival if the two of them worked together. Obviously.)

(In the part of him that he refused to acknowledge, he was relieved. Of course he was upset that he had been transported to another location – one that looked exactly like the Gotham docks – _alternate universe._ But he was relieved that Drake was in this universe too. That they hadn't been sent to separate worlds. That he didn't have to worry as much.)

(Because he had been worried. Mostly, he had been livid. But he had also been worried.)

"Robin!"

Damian's head snapped up, and he made an effort to actually look at the people he had marked as enemies.

(Over half of them looked familiar. He hadn't honestly been paying attention to their appearances. Just the fact that there were seven people he would need to fight.)

There was an Atlantian, and a Martian – but not the Manhunter. There was an archer, likely affiliated with the Green Arrow of this universe. There was- West? Obviously West, but younger. Kent was in the group, but he was his proper age. There was…

He frowned. A Robin. The costume was different from that of any of his world's Robins, but it was easy for Damian to recognize him as Grayson.

(Damian was sure that, no matter the world or situation, he would always be able to recognize Grayson. He had been his Batman; what sort of Robin would he be of he couldn't identify his Batman regardless of circumstances?)

(What sort of brother would he be?)

And then, there was Drake. Drake was there. Drake was _here_.

(Damian could feel something inside of him loosen at the sight of him. Drake was fine, completely unharmed, standing in front of him. Drake was fine.)

"Robin?" the others echoed.

Damian ignored them. "Red Robin."

Drake's face was blank (the way it always was when his emotions were stronger than he felt comfortable broadcasting. Damian wondered what he was feeling.)

"Robin," he repeated. "You got hit too."

"Tt. Obviously," he replied.

Drake was rolling his eyes, Damian was sure, but there was something in his posture that relaxed.

(Damian had a feeling he was relieved too.)

"So there's another Robin?" the Martian asked.

Damian scoffed. "I'm the only Robin."

"Oh, here we go," Drake muttered, fingers flexing. (One of his tells. He probably wanted to push his cowl back and run a hand through his hair.)

"But he's Red Robin," the archer stated, confused.

(Simple minded fools.)

"An astounding observation," Damian replied dryly, ignoring the way she bristled.

Drake sighed. "He's the fifth Robin," he explained. "And I'm Red Robin, not Robin."

"Fifth?!" Grayson exclaimed.

(Not Grayson. Robin.)

(How awkward.)

"Well, we come from an alternate universe very far in the future."

They seemed torn between looking at Damian and Drake. However, for once, he and Drake seemed to be on the same page: they both decided to ignore them.

"Robin."

Both Damian and Robin turned to him. Damian rolled his eyes.

"What?"

He tilted his head, angling his chin towards Damian's katana. Damian wrinkled his nose; he didn't want to sheathe his weapon.

(And why should he? Just because most of these people were heroes in their world, didn't mean they were heroes in this world. Perhaps they had tricked Drake. Even the Robin could evil.)

(Although Damian had a hard time imagining any version of Grayson being a villain.)

Drake pursed his lips. He was being insistent. Damian was tempted to ignore him, but he hesitated in following through with that course of action. If this were any other situation, Damian would keep his sword out just to spite Drake, but they weren't home. They weren't in _their_ Gotham. They couldn't afford to fight while they were here.

Damian sheathed his sword reluctantly. He would follow Drake's lead for now.

Drake nodded, turning to his supposed allies. "Well, I suppose you'll have to get two of us back, now."

"Wait!" Damian interrupted, stepping forward with a scowl. "What about the others?"

Drake looked at him over his shoulder. "They're taking us back to their base. We'll ask Robin to talk to Batman about setting up a watch in case either of them appears."

Damian wanted to argue. He probably would have argued, regardless of the decision he had made less than a minute ago. (This was Grayson. And Todd. If one of them got caught in the beam and he and Drake weren't here… Damian wasn't worried about them; they could take care of themselves. But… He didn't like it.) The only thing that stopped him was the look on Drake's face. He looked like he wasn't done. He looked like he had more that he wanted to say. But he wasn't saying it.

That meant he wasn't being careless. He was still wary of his newly acquired allies.

(He trusted them to help them get back, to give them shelter, not to attack them. But he didn't trust them with secrets, with information, with his thoughts. He was still in possession of what little sense he'd always had.)

(Grayson didn't call it sense. He called it Bat-logic, and made fun of them for how incorrigibly tight-lipped they were around anyone who wasn't family.)

(Not that his amusement stopped him from acting the same way.)

Damian nodded shortly, glaring in a way he knew would convey that he expected to hear everything Drake was keeping to himself once they were alone.

Drake inclined his head subtly before turning back to the others. "That'll be okay, right?"

The Atlantian nodded. "We'll contact Batman as soon as possible."

Damian was less concerned with him, and more concerned with Robin and the way he was eyeing Damian and Drake. He looked suspicious.

(Of course he was. Even if this was another universe, Damian expected that anyone trained by his father would pay attention to the subtle cues that he and Drake had been exchanging. Even if he didn't know exactly what they mean in this context, he would still take note of them.)

(Damian wondered if he would alert anyone other than his Batman, or if he would deem the interaction innocuous enough that it wasn't worth mentioning.)

(Not that it was anything dangerous. Except for the fact that everything Damian did was dangerous, given who he was.)

(And Drake too, he supposed. But less so.)

"Then I guess we can leave now, huh?" Robin said, turning to the Atlantian. (It seemed he was the leader. This universe kept getting weirder.)

"Let's," the leader replied, motioning to the ship that was behind them.

Damian boarded the ship, following after Drake. He raised an eyebrow when seats appeared to accommodate all of them, then sat down next to Drake, crossing his arms. (He didn't like this. He didn't like being on a ship piloted by someone he didn't know.)

(He didn't like being here.)

"So, how old are you, exactly?" the archer asked,

Damian ignored her.

"Er…"

Damian blinked, looking at Drake out of the corner of his eye. Drake was staring straight ahead, looking perfectly relaxed. (He wasn't. He was flexing his fingers again.) Damian was surprised; he'd expected Drake to berate him for not answering.

(Maybe Drake had decided to keep the fighting to a minimum as well.)

"Age isn't really a big deal," Robin jumped in, turning to the archer. "I started this when I was like, 10. By the way, that's Artemis, Aqualad, Kid Flash, Miss Martian, and Superboy."

Damian nodded shortly before looking in the opposite direction. (He didn't like looking at Robin.)

"So… who were you guys fighting?" Kid Flash questioned, scratching the back of his head. "Warp, or someone with magic…?"

"A new villain," Drake replied. "I doubt he exists in the world; he wasn't exactly… experienced."

"But he still managed to send you guys here," Superboy pointed out, grunting.

(Damian wondered if Drake would be mad if Damian stabbed Superboy with the Kryptonite in his belt. It wasn't like this Superboy was Drake's Kent.)

Drake's smile was painfully fake.

(Not quite his public smile – it was too small for that. It was the smile he tended to give Damian whenever Drake decided he was going to "be the bigger Robin." Damian hated that smile.)

(He hated it less when it was directed at someone else.)

"Give someone who doesn't know what he's doing a gun and he'll still manage to hit someone. Luck and a lack of skill can be deadly that way."

Drake barely refrained from sounding condescending. Barely. Superboy was glaring at him.

(But Robin was snickering. Snickering the way Grayson did when he was trying and failing to pretend that he was a responsible, mature adult who didn't love making fun of his younger brothers.)

(Damian couldn't stop his posture from slumping slightly at the sound.)

"Right," Kid Flash said. "So how long have you guys been at this?"

"Not long – a couple of years – less."

(Making sure they underestimated them. It was a brilliant move on Drake's part. As much as it irked Damian to pretend he wasn't as skilled as he was, it would be better in the long run in case something happened.)

(Though, Damian wasn't sure if the story would hold up. Robin was looking at them like he knew they were lying. But he was only smirking and raising an eyebrow. Maybe he wouldn't say anything.)

(That was too much to hope for. Just because he was a Robin – a version of Grayson – didn't mean anything. Damian had to remember that.)

"So you're not experienced either. Just lucky," Superboy said.

There was a slant to Drake's lips that only appeared when he was feeling particularly annoyed. Damian pursed his lips, eyeing him carefully. Normally, Drake had more patience than this (except this wasn't normal. They were in another universe talking to people they knew, but didn't. And Drake looked like he hadn't slept in days.)

(The idiot.)

"In our world, a year's a lot longer than a day. How long are years here?"

Robin was cackling. (Legitimately cackling. He was glad his Grayson never did that; it sounded ridiculous.) "365 24-hour days. Except leap years."

Drake's eyes flicked to Superboy, and he made a humming sound in the back of his throat, but didn't bother replying verbally. (Not that he needed to. One of Drake's questionably useful skills was his ability to convey ineffable levels of derision using only vague sounds and facial expressions.)

Silence fell, and Damian hoped it would last. He didn't want to have to expend the energy needed to ignore a conversation.

"Um… Why do you have a sword? You guys don't… kill people in your world, do you?"

All eyes turned to them, and suddenly, their "allies" were a lot less friendly. Their increasing wariness was palpable. Robin looked ready to attack.

(They all did, but it was Robin that Damian noticed first.)

(It wasn't Grayson. It wasn't _his_ Grayson.)

(That fact didn't stop him from feeling ill at the thought of any version of his oldest brother being willing to fight him.)

"That is a good question," Aqualad murmured quietly, eyes narrowed.

"No, we don't," Drake replied, tone full of conviction and laced with steel. "All heroes have preferred weapons for different reasons. Robin wants to be a ninja."

They mostly relaxed at Drake's words. (He was a good liar.) Robin was still looking at them skeptically.

"Your Batman is okay with that? The sword?"

The grin on Drake's face was deceptive. (No teeth were showing and his eyes were squinted too tightly. That was his undercover smile. He was only smiling because he wanted to seem genuine and trustworthy; he wanted to set them at ease.) "Only when he has supervision."

A smile broke out on Robin's face (Grayson's smile) and he barked a breathless laugh (Grayson's laugh). "I'll keep that in mind."

Damian wondered if it showed. How uncomfortable he was.

Conversation flowed easily after that (all between the others, with Drake jumping in just often enough to avoid having questions specifically directed at him.), but, thankfully, they didn't try to talk to Damian. (And Todd said his attitude was a _problem_.)

When the ship finally landed and the door opened, Damian was relieved. The endless prattle going on around him had only served to give him a headache.

Drake walked slightly in front of him, allowing less than a foot of space between the two of them. (Damian wouldn't give a name to the reason Drake was probably doing it.) (Wouldn't completely admit to himself that he appreciated the thought, even if he didn't need it.)

"Okay, let me just adjust the zeta tubes to let them in," Robin muttered, bringing his arm up to access what appeared to be a holographic computer in his glove. (Impressive technology. Damian had no doubt Drake was already salivating over it.)

"Or," Aqualad said, walking forwards. "I could go in first and have Red Tornado _officially_ allow our guests access."

Robin grinned unapologetically. (Damian was getting tired of seeing familiar expressions on his face.) "If you really want."

Aqualad walked to the zeta tube and disappeared in a flash of yellow. The others followed after him (except Robin. He stayed, still grinning.)

Drake snorted. "That's not traumatic."

"Tt. If you don't have PTSD by now, I doubt you'll ever have it."

"Thanks, Robin," he deadpanned.

"Oh. Right. Think the zeta beam'll be a problem?" Robin questioned, cocking his head.

"We're fine," Drake replied, waving his hand dismissively. "Though, I was wondering about lodging."

"Oh, yeah. Aqualad, Miss Martian, and Superboy live here, but there's plenty of room – enough space for you guys."

Drake nodded slightly. "Are they soundproof?"

Robin blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

"No need to subject Superboy to our nightmares."

(Damian suppressed a scoff. The one time Drake decided to offer up truthful information, he chose to lie about it. Damian couldn't help being grudgingly impressed at how easily it came to him.)

The look on Robin's face was understanding. "Nothing to worry about on that front. Trust me."

Damian felt slightly guilty for allowing Robin to be manipulated, but, more than anything, he was just relieved that Drake had avoided suspicion while confirming the fact that they would have a place to discuss their situation privately.

The zeta-tube lit up, and Kid Flash materialized.

"Hey, Rob. Red Tornado says they're in the clear. I'm going to run home, but I'll see you tomorrow."

"Later, KF! You guys ready?"

"Yeah," Drake said, looking over his shoulder at Damian. "We're ready."

(Damian wondered if he was. Knew he didn't have a choice. He was an al Ghul. A Wayne. _A Robin_. He had to be ready. He didn't have the liberty of _not_ being ready.)

Robin grinned. (Damian wished he'd stop doing that) "All right, then. Follow me."

(That would be easy to do; it was all Damian ever did.)

(Except this wasn't his Grayson.)

* * *

Transporter was locked up in the Cave. (Dick wondered if he should take moral exception to kidnapping Transporter. He probably should. He didn't.) He was still out cold, so questioning would have to wait. Dick probably shouldn't have hit him so hard.

He leaned over the island counter (Bruce had kicked him out of the Cave after 10 minutes of pacing and half of a panic attack), trying to remember how to breathe.

But it was so hard.

He knew that losing people was a part of the job. Jason had died. Steph had died. (Not really, but, yes, she had.) Bruce had died (disappeared, but Dick hadn't known that.) Tim had disappeared, chasing after Bruce. Damian had died. Losing people was a part of the job.

But he had always gotten them back.

(What if he didn't this time? What if they were gone forever? What if they couldn't figure out how the weapon worked, or find where they had gone?)

(What if his luck ran out? What if he never got to see his baby brothers again?)

A teacup was forced into Dick's hands, making him look up.

"Thanks, Little Wing."

His little brother grunted (the only one he still had – Dick didn't think he'd be able to let Jason out of his sight now), taking a seat next to him.

Dick smiled wanly into his tea, eying Jason. He was absolutely seething. (Dick knew because there was a tick in his jaw that just wouldn't go away. It was almost unnoticeable, but Dick knew what to look for.) (Also, because Bruce had kicked Jason out of the Cave for trying to wake Transporter up by shooting him in his kneecaps, and Jason had all but thrown a tantrum, stomping out of the Cave in a huff.)

"Black tea?" Dick asked, wrinkling his nose and closing his eyes.

(He remembered when Bruce and Alfred had confiscated all of Tim's energy drinks and coffee. Tim had raged quietly at the injustice before making himself gallons of black tea so that he could consume as much caffeine as he required for his continued survival. Bruce had given up on him after that.)

"Hey," Jason said, punching Dick on the shoulder lightly.

"Hey."

"It freaks me out when you're quiet for this long."

"…They're gone, Jay. How-"

His voice was breaking. He was losing it.

(He didn't see how he could keep it together.)

"I don't know why I can't keep myself under control. I need to. Bruce is going to be working nonstop until we get them back – no sleep, barely eating. He's going to interrogate Transporter, and look up his history, and investigate that stupid weapon. And he's all but shut down emotionally so he doesn't have to deal with this because he can't cope otherwise. And Alfred, he has to keep everything together, and he's probably going to be the one to tell the girls and deal with that and – I can't do this. I can't-"

"What?" Jason interrupted sharply. "You can't do what? You can't worry, you can't be upset about this? Just because everyone else is upset about it too? Are we supposed to take turns? Come on, Dick, you're supposed to be the emotionally competent one here. It's all right to not be okay with this."

Dick let out a choked laugh. (Laughing was better than crying.) "As far as I know, they're perfectly safe, just somewhere else! And I'm falling apart."

Jason let out an aggrieved sigh. "But you don't know. And it's okay to fall apart about the fact that you don't know what happened to them, as long as you pull yourself together long enough to help me question Transporter once he wakes up."

"You're willing to share?"

"B probably won't let me near him unless I have you around. So you have to at least pretend to be emotionally stable, and then you can go back to freaking out."

Dick laughed, just shy of hysterical, and leaned his head against Jason's shoulder. Jason let him. (Jason had hugged him too.) (Jason was here.)

"Are you okay?" Dick asked.

"What sort of stupid question is that? I'm fine."

Dick didn't have to look at him to tell he was lying. (Jason forced himself to be distant, only ever came over if he couldn't avoid it. But he loved them as much as they loved him – even if most of them would rather stab themselves than say it.)

He chose not to call him on it.

"Will you stay, though?"

Jason twitched, and Dick couldn't help being a bit sad at his reaction. (Jason was so awkward about spending time with them outside of patrol – partly guilt and shame, partly habitual hostility, partly his inability to process how to be a family with them.)

"…Yeah. Okay."

Dick pushed his luck (luck, luck, luck. He hoped he was still lucky.) and wrapped his arm around Jason's shoulders. Jason let him.

"Thanks, Jay. For…"

(For having his back, for caring about him, for caring about their little brothers, for staying, for being here to keep him from falling apart totally.)

"Don't mention it, Dickiebird."

Dick smiled and sat up, taking a big gulp of his tea and wincing. (How had Tim managed to chug gallons of this stuff?) (The only possible answer was that Tim didn't have taste buds. Dick had years' worth of evidence to support that conclusion.)

He laughed. "You remember that time when Alfred was away and Tim actually decided to eat breakfast and-"

"The Red-Bull Cinnamon Grapefruit Lobster Pancakes?" Jason gagged.

"The Red-Bull Cinnamon Grapefruit Lobster Pancakes with maple syrup and hot sauce," Dick corrected, grinning.

Jason shuddered. "And the brat picked out the lobster and actually ate the pancakes because-"

"'These pancakes have an adequate amount of nutrients. Taste is irrelevant.'"

"And he didn't even flinch when he ate them. That was the day I realized if Tim and Damian worked together they could probably take over the world."

Dick threw his head back, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. And then he stopped laughing. He bowed his head, covered his eyes, and took a deep breath.

"We're going to get them back," Dick said.

(He wasn't sure that was true. Maybe they'd caught too many breaks already. But he needed to say it until he believed it.)

"We're going to get them back," Jason affirmed.

(Jason said it like he believed it.)

(Dick would hold onto his faith until he found his own.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

 **Summary:** Enjoy Robin making an effort, Tim and Damian angsting and plotting, and Dick and Jason just angsting.

 **Note:** After more than a year, I'm finally updating this story.

Again, please acknowledge the wonky, out of whack timeline.

Hope you enjoy.

(My Tim's costume has the cowl and gold Red Robin sigil, but with the wings. Don't me.)

* * *

 _Recognized: Robin – B01. Recognized: Red Robin – A01. Recognized: Robin – A02._

Dick suppressed a wince as he stepped into the Cave and heard the designations. He was really doing his best not to let this get to him – and it was working.

For the most part.

You know, just… not completely.

(And could anyone blame him? There was only _one_ Robin. Having three was just creepy. And maybe a little bit overkill.)

(Well, actually, the world could always use more Robins, but that wasn't the point.)

"So, this is the Cave," Dick waved his hand dismissively. "I can give you the full tour tomorrow, but you guys probably want to sleep."

Well, they might not actually: it was pretty early. (Or, at least, it was for him. He wouldn't go to bed for a couple more hours at least – and Bruce would be up even later than that. If Bruce had trained them like he had Dick, they probably wouldn't even be tired.)

But, they probably didn't want company. He knew he wouldn't want to be surrounded by a bunch of strangers after being transported into a new universe.

"'The Cave'?" Red Robin said, eyebrow arched under his cowl (Dick was starting to get the feeling he did that a lot). "That doesn't get confusing?"

(Then again… Red Robin was so chill, maybe getting dumped in alternate universes was par for the course for him and he wouldn't mind the company.)

Dick shrugged, smiling slightly. "Not really: there's a different inflection. Anyway, that's Red Tornado. He's the _den mother."_

Red Tornado nodded at their visitors before turning back to the computer monitor. Dick looked back at them, unsurprised to see Red Robin's gaze locked on Red Tornado and Robin's gaze locked on the ground.

Dick wasn't sure that Robin had actually looked at anything aside from the ground or his partner (were they partners? Dick would have to ask.) since he had gotten here. Red Robin was so composed that Dick would think this was some sort of trap if it weren't for the fact that Robin was _so uncomfortable._

He'd have to see what he could do about that tomorrow.

He shook his head and waved them along. "Come on, the rooms are down this hallway. That room's Kaldur's, that one's Connor's – Superboy – and that's M'gann's. The rest of us have overnight rooms around the corner, but you guys can have these two. The codes are set to 0000, but you can change 'em to whatever."

Dick would definitely check what their codes were through his backdoor in the system, but he had everyone's codes, so it wasn't personal. Besides, it was the thought that counted, right?

There was a strange tilt to Red Robin's lips as he nodded, but he kept whatever he was thinking to himself (Dick was getting surer by the minute that he was Bruce's _actual_ kid). "Thanks. For all of it. I'm not sure what we'd do if you guys hadn't found us."

Dick was pretty sure _that_ was a huge lie, but whatever. "It's no problem."

"Still."

"Well, you're welcome. I'll let you guys get some rest. See you tomorrow."

Red Robin nodded easily; Robin nodded _sharply._

(Dick was startled by the sudden thought that Robin was _young._ He'd told Artemis that age didn't really matter, and he'd _meant it_.

For some people, age wasn't a factor – they were just meant to be out there beating up bad guys and swinging across rooftops. And Dick had a feeling that Robin was one of those people.

But being forcefully ripped from your home?

Age definitely mattered then.)

(And Robin was _young._ )

"See you tomorrow," Red Robin echoed.

Dick startled slightly and hoped it wasn't obvious. "Right. Later." He turned on his heel and walked away, breathing out a sigh of relief when he got back to the briefing room to find Kaldur there.

"Robin."

"You mean me, right?"

Kaldur's expression was slightly disapproving, which, really? If anyone should be overly serious about this situation, it was Dick, but here he was, making an effort, and Kaldur couldn't even give him a smile?

Not cool.

"Have they settled?"

"I gave them rooms next to each other in your hallway."

Kaldur nodded, crossing his arms. "Should we call Batman in to discuss this?"

Honestly?

Yes.

But, this was a… _family_ matter before it was a team matter, so Dick wanted a chance to talk to Bruce privately first.

So, he shrugged. "I mean, he's probably doing his own patrol right now, and it's not exactly a good idea to interrupt that. He's going to be here in the morning anyway to debrief for the mission, and finding them _was_ a part of a mission, so I'd just tell him then."

Kaldur's brow furrowed slightly. "Are you sure? This seems… urgent." (Oh, come on. Could he maybe not be so competent and serious for 5 seconds? Just go with it, Kal.)

"Tell you what: I'll give him the short version, and if we don't show up here, that means he'll just wait to hear the rest from you tomorrow."

Go for it. Go for it. Go for it.

( _Please. Go for it._ )

A slow nod had Dick forcing himself not to pump his fist in the air. "A wise idea. Good luck, my friend."

Dick gave a two-fingered salute before approaching the zeta-tube. "Good work out there today; don't wait up."

He stepped through the tube and took a deep breath as he pushed open the phonebooth door.

(There was nothing like Gotham air.)

He grabbed his grappling hook and swung onto the nearest rooftop. He flipped and landed on the edge, balancing on the balls of his feet. He took another deep breath and activated his comms.

"Batman, there's a situation."

Well, that was a little misleading. There was definitely a situation, but Bruce had no idea about their alternate universe visitors, so he probably thought they'd messed up the mission with Black Mask.

"Report, Robin."

Oh, yeah – that was an ominous tone.

"Not that kind of situation," Dick backpedaled. "The mission went well; we took care of Black Mask's shipment. Kaldur can give you the full report tomorrow. That's not the problem."

Bruce was quiet on the other end, but Dick had enough experience with comms silence to recognize the reluctant confusion.

"Can you meet me on the docks?" Dick asked, already swinging to the location. "While we were fighting…"

Dick wasn't actually sure how to say it. It shouldn't be this hard, except it really was. How was he supposed to tell Bruce that two other _Robins_ had been transported into their world? _Robins_.

(He should just say it. Just tell him.

"Hey Bruce, in another world I guess you took in, not one, not two, but _4_ other kids besides me and trained them to be vigilantes too. And two of them are here now. We put them in the Cave, and it's possible that more of them could be out here too."

Yeah. Right. No.)

"What happened, Robin?" Bruce asked. He sounded concerned, which was nice. (Dick just wondered how he was going to sound when Dick actually got around to telling him.)

"What's your ETA?" he deflected.

Bruce sighed heavily – disapproving – but allowed it. "2 minutes."

"Awesome. I'll be there in 1."

The comms fell silent, which Dick appreciated. He needed the minute to gather his thoughts.

(He was a little surprised at himself. He'd been worked up around Red Robin and Robin – but not like this.)

(Then again, that wasn't much of a surprise, was it? Because he could deal when he had to deal – and while he was with them, he'd _had_ to was a completely different situation. He couldn't hide what he was feeling from Bruce even if he wanted to.)

Bruce was already on site when Dick finally arrived at the docks. He gave a grin that was only mostly fake.

"Overestimated your ETA there, B?"

Bruce arched an eyebrow under his cowl, still humoring him. "Or maybe you underestimated yours."

Dick wanted to appreciate the effort for what it was, but all he could think was that maybe Red Robin really was Bruce's kid and he could not actually process that at the moment.

"Robin."

And that was serious Batman talking. Dick took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes (well, cowl lenses, but same difference). Time to rip off the band-aid. (Even though he was really pretty sure that was not the best approach to go with, he couldn't come up with anything else. So much for out of the box thinking.)

Okay, Dick just needed to… compartmentalize. Report the mission. "We were fighting Black Masks' goons here. We stopped the shipment – well, Superboy threw it in the bay. Black Mask ran, and his lackeys stayed to fight. There were less than two dozen – it wasn't a tough fight."

Bruce walked up to where he was standing. "But?"

Dick took a deep breath. (Here goes.) "While we were fighting them… someone appeared. And by appeared, I mean materialized out of nowhere. But even though he landed in a fight, he didn't even hesitate – excellent training. A little taller than me, bird insignia across his chest, cowl, utility belt, he was fighting with a bow staff as his primary weapon."

Dick snuck a look at Bruce to see if he was putting the pieces together. (He was the best detective in the world – _of course_ he was putting the pieces together.)

Bruce's brow was drawn down, mouth tight, arms crossed. (Definitely putting the pieces together.)

Dick continued. "He helped us take down the thugs and then told us he was from another universe."

And there it was. First hurdle crossed. Not the hardest hurdle, but hey.

"Another universe. You're sure?"

"As sure as we can be without running any tests. His story sounded pretty legit, but we figured you'd run a check tomorrow. He's staying at the Cave; Miss M, Aqualad, and Superboy can handle them. Pretty sure he doesn't have any powers."

That was about as close to saying he was a Bat without saying it.

Bruce seemed to be ignoring it.

"You didn't contact me while you were still here?"

Dick shrugged. "Not my call."

Was blaming Kaldur the right thing to do?

No, not really. But, in all fairness, Dick hadn't been at the top of his game and calling Bruce hadn't even crossed his mind. And it wasn't like he could just admit that, so… (Though he had a feeling Bruce knew anyway, but was letting him get away with it.)

(And people said Batman was _mean._ )

Bruce made a considering sound. "What are you leaving out?"

"Not 'leaving out'," Dick protested, crossing his arms. "I just haven't gotten to it yet."

"Well? Get to it."

( _That_ was why they thought he was mean.)

Dick sighed and ran a hand through his hair (it just wasn't the same with gloves on). "He said his name was Red Robin."

There was no visible reaction from Bruce, which was tantamount to him admitting he was shocked. (That was comforting. At least Dick knew Bruce – _his_ Bruce – hadn't been thinking about going and getting a newer version of him.)

"He works with a Batman from his universe. I buy it. For a lot of reasons. Long story short, a villain he was fighting sent him here, he asked for out help getting him back home, and we were planning on taking him back to the Cave when a _nother one_ showed up."

Bruce actually _looked_ surprised now. "'Another one'?"

Dick smirked a little. Why had he been worried again? (Well, he knew why, but he was actually starting to enjoy this purely because Bruce seemed to be having as hard a time comprehending this as Dick had.)

"Yep! Another one."

Bruce shot him an unamused look.

Dick's smirk grew into a grin. "He's younger than me – 2, maybe 3 years younger. He's just Robin; he has a sword."

Bruce faltered. "What?"

"Yep! He wants to be a ninja and can only carry it with supervision around, per your orders."

Maybe the glee in his voice was a little much, but Bruce looked so _lost_ right now! This was such a pleasantly unexpected reaction that Dick couldn't help but enjoy it.

(It was so much better than… well, Dick didn't know how he'd thought Bruce was going to react. But he'd been sure it would be _bad._ This was such a relief.)

"We got on the Bioship and took them back to the Cave. It was a little weird," Dick admitted, quieting his amusement. "Not just the whole Robin thing – though that was definitely a part of it. But it was watching them. They really seem… like they're like us, I guess. Which makes sense, since I'm pretty sure they're telling the truth, but just the way they were functioning around the team… Red Robin tried to pass them off as being less experienced than they are – the others bought it for the most part, I think. And it's a smart tactical move, from their standpoint. It's what I'd do."

Bruce nodded slowly. He probably wanted to observe them in person. "I need to see them. I'll call the Green Lantern and Zatara in to run tests and make sure they're telling the truth. Then we'll work on getting them back where they belong."

Ever thorough, even in the face of his confusion. Dick had to appreciate it – even though he sort of didn't. "Tomorrow, right?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason I should put this off?"

Mostly because as much of a relief as Bruce's reaction to the news was, Dick needed more time to emotionally process and prepare to see them again. With Bruce in the room. But that was a stupidly emotional reason and the job came first, so:

"The other Robin said that there were more of them. They were fighting with two allies in their Gotham. Red Robin mentioned wanting us to check around – just to make sure that neither of their allies got transported here. I figure we should do a targeted search – see if anything – or _anyone –_ strange pops up."

Bruce was looking at him thoughtfully. (He totally wasn't buying it.) "And you're comfortable leaving your teammates with two strange vigilantes – both of whom are representing themselves as less dangerous than they are – making your team unprepared for the worst-case scenario?"

That… was a fair point. (But, also, completely irrelevant because, yeah. Dick was actually comfortable with that. (Which was probably bad, but he didn't think either of them had any intentions of causing that sort of trouble.))

"I am," Dick answered simply. "You'll get it when you meet them. Trust me."

"…First thing tomorrow morning. Let's check the area."

Dick smiled. (Bruce probably thought Dick not being worried at the worst-case was irresponsible. And he could definitely see through Dick's work-oriented excuse. But he was letting it go for once.) "Thanks, B."

"Don't thank me yet."

That was possibly playful, possibly ominous. It was kind of hard to tell, and Dick was sure Bruce said it that way on purpose.

Dick shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'll take north, you take south?"

Bruce nodded and started off in that direction. "Check in if you find something or when you finish."

Dick looked at his back as he walked away. "Oh," he called out, tone overly-casual. "Did I mention that I'm pretty sure one of them's your biological kid?"

Dick didn't think he'd ever seen Bruce's neck whip around that quickly without him being punched. He cackled as he ran in the opposite direction to check for traces of alternate universe visitors.

" _Robin,"_ Bruce growled.

Dick just kept laughing.

(Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.)

* * *

Tim opened the door to the room Robin had assigned him and ushered Damian in before shutting the door behind them.

He performed a cursory sweep of the room: bed, dresser, nightstand, desk, chair, closet, and another door that probably led to an en suite.

The bed looked really inviting. (It didn't actually; his safehouse beds looked more comfortable. But he was _tired_.)

(No time for that, though. He could sleep when he was dead.)

(Which was exactly how he had gotten into this situation, so maybe he should alter his philosophy…)

"Well?"

Tim blinked and focused his attention on Damian, who was standing with his arms crossed and eye narrowed. Right. Things to go over, stuff to talk about, etc.

Damian opened his mouth again, but Tim motioned for him to stay silent. Damian acquiesced, but there was no telling how long that would last, so Tim should probably start his sweep. And maybe rope Damian into helping him – he'd go for that.

Tim reached into his utility belt and pulled out one of his scanners. (Jason frequently told him that he had too many scanners in his belt. But Jason didn't have _any_ scanners in his belt, so his opinion was entirely invalid.)

(He was having trouble thinking about Jason. Which was so unfair. He was _not_ about to start missing Jason. He wasn't.)

He shook his head and sighed to clear his thoughts. Then he waved the scanner around in front of Damian's face until he caught on.

Damian reached into his belt and pulled out an identical scanner. Tim nodded approvingly (Damian had almost as many scanners in his belt as Tim did; it made him a little proud, though he'd deny it if asked) and motioned for Damian to take the closet and the bathroom, before heading over to start on the desk.

Was it a little paranoid of him to scan for bugs and cameras in the room their gracious hosts had provided?

Yes, it was. He wasn't going to deny that. And he was honestly pretty sure that the scan would come up empty. But he could never be too sure.

(He hoped the scanners were still working.)

(He breathed a silent sigh of relief when they turned on.)

The search took 15 minutes to complete. (Well, 20, actually. But that was only because Damian was ridiculous. Tim was older _and_ bigger than he was, so it made sense for Tim to be the one to give Damian the boost to search the ceiling. It was logical. But Damian had spent five minutes arguing to be the one to give Tim the boost. Ridiculous. (It was a good thing they were so well-versed in arguing with each other, otherwise they wouldn't have been able to get through that confrontation using only gestures and facial expressions – not that'd they'd needed to worry about anything in the end.))

Tim pulled his cowl back and let out a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair.

Now, how were they going to handle this?

"What would you have done if we had found something?" Damian asked, sitting down in the chair and pulling his mask off.

"Gotten rid of the bugs and rerouted the camera feed. No point in being subtle about it."

Damian tucked his mask away and raised an eyebrow, lips pursed. "Then what was the point of not saying anything if you were planning on destroying the evidence anyway?"

"If they'd been there, they would have been recording."

Damian conceded the point with a sharp nod before taking his cape off and draping it on the back of the chair. "Why didn't you change the code on the door?"

Tim rolled his eyes and got to work removing his glider. "If you were in Robin's place, wouldn't you make sure you knew our codes, even if we changed them? There's no point."

"Tt. Fair enough." Damian leaned back and crossed his arms, cocking an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Why don't we start with what happened after I left," Tim suggested, dropping onto the bed and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Damian's lips tightened. " _Transporter_ ," (Damian spat his name like he was the worst villain they'd ever encountered; Tim wasn't inclined to disagree), "began to rant shortly after you'd been… sent here. Grayson insisted we take him while he was… distracted."

They winced simultaneously at the word. (Tim was just glad he wasn't the only one bothered by it.)

"Wait," Tim said, brow furrowing. "Please don't tell me the reason you're here is because Dick used my strategy. The strategy that was proven to be a _very_ bad idea in that situation? Damian."

(Seriously? _Seriously?)_

Damian was very pointedly not looking at him, but his tone wasn't the defensive posturing that Tim had expected. "Grayson wasn't exactly… working at optimal levels."

Tim gaped slightly before swallowing. "Right. I guess not."

He ran another hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He'd been so focused on what was going on here that he hadn't really stopped to consider what must be going on back home. (If Dick and Jason were even still there. He had no idea…)

No. No time for that. He could think about that… later. Right now, they had to finish going over everything and make preliminary plans. Thinking about home would just… distract them.

(He hated that word. He _hated_ it.)

"Right," Tim repeated. "What happened then?"

"We rushed him," Damian said. "I was ahead of the others and the fool panicked. He shot at me three times. I managed to dodge the first two completely, but the last beam grazed my katana."

"Huh. I wonder how that works – I mean, the katana isn't a part of you, so-"

"Is that really what you should be focusing on?" Damian snarled, shooting out of his seat with his fists balled at his sides.

Tim looked at him steadily.

(No, it wasn't. But it was better than thinking about how Dick must have felt, watching Tim disappear and then _Damian._ He hoped Jason had stayed with Dick because Dick couldn't handle something like that alone.)

(But he couldn't tell Damian that. Couldn't bring up how Dick might be falling apart. (How _Bruce_ might be falling apart if he'd heard by now.) Damian didn't need that right now.)

(Neither of them did, but this was Tim's burden to bear.)

"Any detail about the weapon helps," Tim said. "If I can put together how it works, I'll have something to tell this world's League. It might make it easier to get us back."

Damian's expression twisted before he sat back down in the chair. "I suppose that makes sense."

Tim pursed his lips. (It really did.) "Did you think I was asking for no reason?"

"There's no telling when your rarely seen rational side will come to the fore, Drake."

Tim rolled his eyes, but he didn't really mind the insult. It was comfortable. Familiar. Steadying. (He needed that.)

"And you?" Damian asked archly. "What happened when you arrived?"

"Nothing much," Tim shrugged. "They were fighting some of Black Masks thugs. I helped, then told them I was from another universe when we finished. They're awfully trusting."

(Tim knew he actually _was_ from another universe, but they'd accepted it so easily. Yeah, it was to his and Damian's advantage, but still.)

(Tim wondered if he'd ever been that naïve.)

( _Ugh._ He hoped not.)

"Tt. I'd noticed; it's embarrassing."

They shared an exasperated look, and Tim took a moment to wonder what it said about them that they were commiserating over other people's lack of paranoia.

Whatever.

 _It was embarrassing behavior._

"Putting that aside, you know the reason we had to come back with them and not… wait and see, right?"

Damian scowled. "No, I don't. They couldn't have stopped us. We should have waited!"

Tim heaved a sigh. "It's not that I didn't want to stay, Damian," (Tim had _really_ wanted to stay), "but if we'd stayed in Gotham, we would have run into Batman on patrol. Or maybe Robin would have called him and sent him to our location. Whatever the case, it's better to meet this world's Batman as a guest of Robin's than independent actors."

(It was better meeting this world's Batman tomorrow or anytime later. Just not tonight. Damian couldn't handle that; he was barely managing being around Robin.)

(Tim wasn't sure _he_ could handle it.)

The look on Damian's face was somewhere between lost and heartbroken – well he looked angry and constipated, but that's what it meant on his face.

Tim understood that, and he knew it was better not to dwell on the topic for too long (for both of them), so: moving on. "We should probably start planning our next move."

Damian started, composing himself and nodding imperiously. "Obviously."

That was a little better.

(But Tim was about to make it a whole lot worse.)

"First, we need to account for the worst case. Damian, if they can't get us back-"

"Father will get us back," Damian interrupted forcefully. "And Grayson, if he's still there. Even Todd will do something. We won't be stuck here. We _won't_."

Tim wondered if Damian really believed that - of course, he did.

(Robin had infinite faith in his Batman. Both of them.)

(But sometimes Batman failed and Robin had to step up and accept the consequences.)

Tim would let Damian hold onto that for as long as he could. "Of course, they will," (he said it like he believed it; he'd always been a good liar), "but you know the rule: always have a plan for the worst case, Damian."

"But we won't be stuck here, so why bother?" Damian had set his jaw and looked ready to fight him on this – he needed to get Damian to understand without pushing him over the edge.

"Look at it this way," Tim said, "do you really think Jon's going to go berserk and kill a bunch a people and try and take over the world?"

Tension bled out of Damian's posture when he started to process what Tim meant. (Thank goodness. Bringing up Jon had been a calculated risk: thinking about his best friend might have only upset Damian more. (Tim was so glad it had worked.)).

"He doesn't have it in him," Damian replied, which was as close to acquiescence as he would get.

Tim more than happily took the win.

"So, worst case: we don't get back. We can't stay here and we can't go to Gotham."

Damian clenched his jaw. "Why not?"

"What if we exist in this world, Damian? If we work with these heroes or go to Gotham, that could mess things up for this version of us. Do you want that?"

Damian didn't have to answer. Tim knew he would never want any version of him to be with Talia and Ra's when he could be with Bruce and Dick. And Damian knew he knew that.

Now for the (other) hard part.

"We'd have to retire."

"WHAT?" Damian shot out of his seat a second time.

Tim could feel a headache coming on. (Though that might be the sleep deprivation catching up to him.)

Not that he didn't understand Damian's anger. Even suggesting it made Tim feel uncomfortable. But if they got stuck here, Tim would make sure they did what they had to in order to survive. And retiring would be number one on the list.

"Damian, think about what I just said-"

"I am, and it's stupid," he spat. "Why would we retire?"

Tim resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh (that would only make Damian think he was patronizing him and Tim didn't need to go down _that_ rabbit hole right now). "Damian, if we keep working, we'll get involved in with other heroes and _risk the futures of the Tim and Damian of this world._ "

Damian clenched his fists and exhaled sharply. "We won't work in Gotham – and we'll avoid other heroes!"

"Do you really think two new vigilantes can avoid the rest of the caped community forever?" Tim asked. "Especially when there's already a team who's even a little bit familiar with us? They won't let us operate on our own.

"And set that aside for a minute and think about _where_ we'd operate. You just said we'd avoid Gotham, Damian. Where would we go? We can't work in another hero's city, so we'd have to find somewhere entirely new. Not to mention our methodology is specifically crafted for working in Gotham. A new environment would mean having to adapt our styles.

"I'm not saying we couldn't do it, but think of all the risks, Damian. And it would just be us. Just the two of us. We wouldn't have a base, we wouldn't have any funding, and we wouldn't have any backup while we're trying to start from scratch.

"Damian, just… think."

Damian was shaking when he sat back down in the chair. (He was only shaking a little bit – a barely there full-body tremble – but it was enough to make Tim uncomfortable.)

(Who was he kidding? Damian was breaking his heart right now and it was _so, so_ unfair.)

(Tim had never signed up for this.)

"What are we supposed to do?" Damian's voice was quiet (too quiet). "If we're not- what do we do?"

"Try to live normal lives. If we can make it as vigilantes in Gotham, we can make it as civilians anywhere in the world."

(Tim said it like he believed it.)

(He was _such_ a good liar.)

Damian had that look on his face again – a little lost, a little heartbroken – and Tim really hoped he didn't have to see that expression for a third time tonight.

"Of course," Damian said (he didn't have nearly as much conviction as Tim did, but Tim would lie for the both of them, so Damian didn't have to). "Anything else we need to discuss?"

Damian sounded as exhausted as Tim felt. (And he was so tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He was _so tired._ ) Tim thought about ending the conversation, but leaving it like this… that didn't sit well with him. It would be better to end the night on a lighter note.

"Just a few more things," Tim said. "I don't doubt the League – or at least Batman – will show up to check us out. When we're cleared, they'll do what they can to get us home. Still, there's always a chance that this could go south."

Damian's entire countenance sharpened, which was what Tim had been counting on.

"You think they'll try to attack us?"

No, Tim didn't think that. But there was always a chance, and it was important to have contingencies in place. Just in case.

(Honestly, Tim just wanted to cheer the both of them up. Planning ways to cripple this world's heroes just in case the worst happened was a great way to do that.)

"Better safe than sorry," Tim shrugged. "If this League has the same members as back home, we don't really have to worry about that. We can implement the plans we already have – though we'll have to find a way to get a few supplies."

Damian cocked an eyebrow. "And if this League has different members?"

"Then we'll have to account for that. Sometime tomorrow, I'll hack into the computer and see what sort of information they've got there. Hopefully, it'll have League profiles – as well as profiles on this team."

Damian nodded, satisfied. "The team is the more pressing threat, considering we're staying at their base."

Tim nodded. "I'm not too worried about them, actually. With both of us here, taking them out should be simple."

Damian smirked slightly. "Kryptonite for the Kryptonian, light the Martian and the Atlantean on fire."

Tim smirked back, pleased with the fact that he and Damian were of one mind on how to incapacitate their hosts. "Disarm and knock out the archer, sedatives for the Flash."

He left off Robin, which he was sure Damian had noticed. (But Tim was sure he didn't mind. Neither one of them wanted to think about that.)

"Tt. Should be interesting."

Damian actually sounded like he was looking forward to it, which was not the point of a contingency, but whatever. Tim's plan had worked and Damian no longer looked like he was about to start crying – which, just: no.

"It'll be important to watch for psychological weaknesses we can exploit as well," Tim said.

That was actually less necessary than he was insisting, but Damian needed to work on subtler methods of taking down his opponents and they might as well get _something_ out of this horrible experience.

"Nightly reports?" Damian asked.

"Obviously."

"Tt."

And… that was the end of that.

Talking any more would probably bring them back around to a point that would make them upset, so ending the conversation here was good.

Damian had seemed to come to the same conclusion, considering he wasn't saying anything else.

(Why was this so awkward all of a sudden?)

"Well…" Tim started, hesitating (why was he hesitating?). "We should probably get some sleep…"

Damian nodded curtly, standing up. "Of course. You need it especially, Drake. Honestly, how sleep deprived do you have to be-"

"Don't! Remind me. Please."

"Tt. Idiot."

"Brat."

Damian shifted his stance, but didn't make any move to walk towards the door.

(Oh.)

He didn't want to leave.

(It made sense.. If he left, then he wouldn't be able to see Tim, and how would he know what was going on then?)

(It made sense. Because if he left, then he would be alone, even if Tim was only one room over.)

(It made sense.)

(Tim didn't want him to leave either.)

But Damian was never going to admit that. He was too independent, too prideful. (And he was Damian. And Tim was Tim. And they never _didn't_ want to leave each other's presence.)

How to go about it…

"Well, I need to sleep," Tim said.

"That's true," Damian sniffed, just a little condescending. (Tim couldn't even fault him for it.)

"But it's kind of early for us. You're probably not that tired."

Damian shifted again, tilting his head. "Not particularly."

"And, you know, I didn't change the code."

Tim saw the moment Damian realized what he was doing. Damian looked a little reluctant and a little grudging, but, mostly, he looked grateful.

(If the others were here-)

(No. He wasn't going to think about that.)

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms as he sat back down in the chair. "You haven't slept in days. As much as I hate to admit it, I need an ally at the moment. I can't leave you defenseless in unknown territory."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm hardly defenseless."

"I'd attack you, but I don't feel like stitching you up when you prove me right."

Tim snorted and changed positions so he was lying down on the bed. "Wake me up when it's my turn to keep watch."

"Not likely."

Tim huffed a small laugh and closed his eyes.

(He hoped this all turned out okay.)

(He needed it to turn out okay.)

(For Damian's sake.)

(For the sake of everyone back home.)

(For his own sake.)

* * *

Jason scowled as he stomped towards the Cave.

He hated being in the Manor. He hated it. He had no idea how Dick could stand being here. He had no idea how _anyone_ could stand being here.

There were too many bad memories. Or, maybe that was just him.

(It was worse now. Because now there were bad memories and missing pieces to go along with them. Damian was a menace and Tim was… Tim, but...)

(This wasn't right.)

There were footsteps. Someone was coming towards him. Not someone. Dick. (Bruce was near silent even out of uniform. Alfred's steps were quiet and measured. And there was no one else it could be.)

Dick caught up to him and offered a smile. It was pitiful, but Jason couldn't blame him. (At least he was trying.)

(Jason would never admit it, but Dick had scared him a little last night. Dick was supposed to be the one with unshakeable faith. The one who would never doubt that they could bring their family back together. _Dick_ was supposed to be the one.)

(Jason didn't know if he could be that.)

"Hey, Jay. Sleep all right?"

Jason grunted, shrugging. "I got two hours. You look like you got less."

He laughed a little, but didn't deny it. (Jason was actually pretty sure Dick hadn't gotten _any_ sleep. Didn't he know that was stupid? _Tim_ was proof of that.)

(Jason hadn't wanted to kill Tim for ages, but he always figured that, if the urge ever struck again, it would be over, well… he wasn't sure. But definitely not Tim's sleeping habits. (Guess you learn something new every day.))

Dick's pace sped up the closer they got to the Cave's entrance. Jason matched his pace easily, just as anxious to reach their destination.

Anxious wasn't the right word. It was more… _anticipatory._

Jason didn't torture people anymore (well, not much, anyway, but what Bruce pretended not to know wouldn't hurt him), but he was willing to make an exception for Transporter.

Judging by the cool expression settling on Dick's face as he opened up the entrance to the Cave, Dick wasn't feeling particularly merciful either. (Not that that was a surprise.)

Bruce was already in the Cave, sitting at the computer, which Jason had been expecting. It would have been nice if Bruce had been somewhere else so he (and Dick) could have free reign with their prisoner, but where else would Bruce be?

Really.

"Dick, Jason."

His tone was clipped and he hadn't even turned from the monitors to face them, but Jason knew better than to take it personally. (Not that knowing did anything to make him less agitated. Bruce was _such_ a jerk.)

Dick didn't seem bothered. (Or maybe he was just too focused to let it affect him.) "Bruce. Where is he?"

Straight to business. Jason appreciated it.

"I cordoned off space to hold him. You don't need to worry about it."

And that was the end of Dick's control apparently. Jason didn't think he'd ever seen Dick's emotions change that quickly. (Though it was more like he was losing control. Which Jason could also appreciate.)

"We don't need to worry? Are you kidding? Bruce-" Dick cut himself off sharply. He took a deep breath and started again. "You already questioned him? What did he say?"

Bruce finally turned the chair to face them, lips pursed a fraction too hard. (Rationally, Jason knew there was no real reason to be angry with Bruce – this was almost as hard on him as it was on them. (Not _as_ hard. Because he hadn't been there. (It hadn't been _his_ fault.) But, almost.) But Jason wasn't feeling all that rational. He was pissed at himself and at Dick and at Tim and at Damian and at _Transporter_ , so he might as well be pissed at Bruce too.)

"Not much."

Dick set his jaw and crossed his arms.

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "His name is Eric Dowell. He got the weapon on the black market – not in Gotham. I've got a name and a location, but nothing else."

"Maybe you weren't persuasive enough," Jason said.

Bruce looked at him steadily. "You're not going to torture him, Jason."

"Really? I'm not? That's news to me."

Bruce was glaring at him now. Funny how he thought that was going to change Jason's mind.

"No, Jason."

Jason scoffed. "Well, your methods didn't get enough out of him, did they? A name and a location? For real? You're satisfied with that?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed further. "No. But I'll get to him after I do more research."

Oh, more research. Great. Well, while he did that, Jason was going to go break every single bone in _Eric's_ body. And maybe shoot him a couple of times. And douse him in acid. That was survivable.

Dick put a hand on his arm when he made to step forward. Jason glared at him. (Seriously? Was he _seriously_ going to side with Bruce right now?)

Dick looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "He can't give us any more information if he's in a coma, Jason."

…

Both of them pissed him off.

"You said he gave you a name and a location, right?" Dick asked. "What are they? Me and Jason can go check them out."

Jason exhaled slowly and nodded in agreement with Dick's suggestion. It wouldn't make him feel as good as beating _Eric_ up, but it was still something.

Of course, Bruce was not so secretly a sadist, so, instead of going with Dick's surprisingly reasonable suggestion (and where did that come from anyway? Dick had been about to blow all of five seconds ago), he shot them down. "Cass is looking into it."

Jason gaped. "Cass? About yea high, black hair? That Cass?"

Bruce wasn't amused. (Good. Jason wasn't trying to entertain him.) "Yes. _That_ Cass."

"Bruce," Dick started, head titling slightly in that way it did when he was trying (and failing) to make sense of something that shouldn't be as confusing as it was. "Cass is in Hong Kong."

Oh, right. Jason had forgotten that part.

(He'd been upset because no one should take this from them. This was _their_ fault. _Their_ job. _Their_ responsibility. No one else's.)

But that just made it worse.

Cass was on the other side of the world and Bruce was asking her to investigate? They were _right here!_

"Bruce-"

He cut Dick off. "She's closer."

Jason didn't believe that for a second. "You're a pathological liar, you know that, right? There's no way _that guy_ went and got a weapon in Hong Kong and then came back to Gotham to terrorize the city."

Bruce sighed like Jason wasn't right. "I didn't say he got the weapon in Hong Kong. That doesn't mean she's not closer."

(Was he really supposed to buy that?)

Jason laughed, short and brittle. "You complete and utter-"

"Master Jason, how good to see you stayed the night. Have you eaten breakfast?"

Jason froze and swallowed what he'd been about to say. Cussing someone out in front of Alfred would be a cardinal sin. (Well, he was okay with most cardinal sins. So, something worse.) He turned around and made an effort not to hunch his shoulders. (He wasn't a child. He wasn't going to feel guilty just because Alfred was arching an eyebrow at him.) (And Alfred insisted on good posture.)

"Hey, Alfie. How's it going?"

The corner of Alfred's mouth turned down just a little and Jason felt like a complete idiot. ("How's it going?" Really? That was quite possibly the stupidest question he could have asked at the moment.)

Thankfully, Alfred ignored it. "Breakfast, Master Jason."

"I haven't eaten yet," he answered gruffly.

"Then perhaps you and Master Dick will join Miss Stephanie upstairs. She just arrived, and I wouldn't want her to be alone for long."

And that was a dismissal if he'd ever heard one.

Jason wasn't sure if he would have argued to stay, but he didn't get the chance either way.

"That's a good idea. Come on, Jay."

Dick grabbed his arm and dragged him past Alfred and out of the Cave, walking just a little too quickly and determinedly not looking back at Bruce.

Jason shook his arm out of Dick's grasp when they were back in the Manor. "Seriously? We're just going to leave it?"

(Okay, yeah. He probably would have argued to stay.)

(He was surprised (and maybe a little hurt) that Dick hadn't.)

"Did you really want to get in the middle of that?"

And, yeah, that was a fair point. Alfred had stayed behind instead of herding them upstairs, which meant he had _words_ for Bruce.

But still.

He leveled a glare at Dick.

Dick sighed heavily and ran his hand over his face. "Let's face it, Jay, that conversation was going nowhere. Fast. I was barely holding it together and you were about to blow up and Bruce wasn't budging. I just- it's probably a good thing Alfred came in when he did."

And all of a sudden, Jason felt tired. (Not physically. He'd gone for longer on less sleep. He wasn't tired. He was _tired_.)

"Yeah," he conceded quietly. "Yeah. Guess you're right."

Dick pulled his hand away from his face and took a deep breath. "Okay. Kitchen?"

Jason nodded and followed after Dick as they started on their way.

He wasn't sure he was ready for this.

(Dealing with Dick and Bruce and himself… he was barely handling it. And definitely not in a healthy way. Adding another person into the mix?

For some reason that didn't sound like a good idea.)

Dick barely hesitated before walking into the kitchen. (But it was enough for Jason to register that it had happened.)

"Hey, Steph. Are those pancakes? Alfred really went all out, huh?"

She turned to look at them with a half-smile and puffy eyes. "Yeah. Glad I stopped by or I'd have missed out."

Jason snorted – more at her effort than the actual teasing.

(He hadn't talked to Steph much, but he liked her. She was tough and funny and a good fighter and she'd hit Tim in the face with a brick once. What wasn't to like?)

(Seeing her this sad kind of pissed him off.)

(Everything was pissing him off right now though, so it wasn't even worth noting.)

Steph's half-hearted smile died out and her shoulders slumped forward. She pushed her eggs around on her plate and took a breath. "So, what's the progress so far?"

She didn't sound too hopeful.

Jason snorted and shrugged. "There isn't any. Bruce has gone full-control freak. He's letting a lead sit until Cass can get to it."

Steph blinked, gaping slightly. "But Cass is in-"

"Yep," Jason affirmed.

"Why?" Steph asked, but she looked more resigned than incensed.

Jason wondered if it was because of the situation, or if repeated exposure to Bruce just sucked the fire out of people.

"No clue," Dick said, sighing.

She scoffed and stabbed at her pancakes. "Figures." She hesitated slightly, tapping her fingers on the counter. "Do you… do you think they're together?"

All of the anger Jason was working up over Bruce drained out of him. And he just felt… empty.

Exhausted.

(He _really_ hoped they were together.)

"They've got to be," Dick said.

His voice was a little too wobbly. (He was hoping, but he wasn't sure he believed it. (Jason needed Dick to believe it, so he could believe it too.))

Steph didn't look like she cared about Dick's lack of conviction. (Or maybe she was just as desperate as they were.) "Yeah. Yeah. Think they're at each other's throats? I mean, it would be just like them to fight over stupid stuff while they're stranded somewhere else, right?"

"No," Dick replied immediately – and this time he sounded sure. "They're looking out for each other."

Jason looked over at Dick – at the first true confidence Jason had seen on his face since last night – and he believed him.

(He'd hoped as much last night when Damian disappeared. That the two of them would be together. That they'd look after each other. He'd hoped and tried to make himself believe it.

But he'd seen Damian push Tim off a roof before.)

(But Dick was around the two of them more than he was. He knew better. And if he said they'd look after each other, then they would.

It made sense, really. After all, Jason was _here_. In the Manor. He'd stayed the night because Dick had asked him to.

When push came to shove, they stuck together.

Damian and Tim weren't any different.)

(Jason _really, really_ hoped they were together.)

* * *

"Why are we still in here?" Damian snarled, making his… 29th circuit around the room since Drake had woken up and told him they would be waiting in the room until someone came to _collect_ them.

He didn't appreciate being caged in an alternate universe at the mercy of strangers – and he didn't understand why Drake didn't mind putting them in a weaker position.

(He did, actually. It was because Drake's sense of self-preservation was nearly non-existent. It was horrifying.)

Drake looked up from his handheld computer, solely to roll his eyes at Damian before turning back to his work. "How would you feel if we put someone up in the Cave and then came down the next day to find them poking their nose in everything?"

It would piss Damian off.

"That wouldn't happen because we would assign a watch to ensure it. It's not our fault these _heroes_ aren't as thorough as we are."

Drake titled his head in concession. "That doesn't mean we should go around pointing out their flaws to them. It'll give us something to use if it comes down to it."

Damian could appreciate that – though he was fairly sure Drake had come up with that excuse off the top of his head to get him to shut up.

Damian huffed and dropped down into the desk chair, glaring at Drake to keep himself busy.

It took five minutes for Drake to break and look up at him. (When Drake was concentrating on something, it normally took 15 minutes for him to give in. If he was breaking early, that meant he wasn't nearly as calm as he was pretending to be. (Damian wasn't sure how he felt about that.))

"What?"

"It's taking you longer than I expected to hack into this system, Drake? Getting rusty?"

He heaved a sigh and narrowed his eyes. "Maybe it's taking me so long because a bratty midget is distracting me."

Damian glared and tugged off his gauntlet to throw it at Drake.

He didn't bother dodging. "Oh. Ow. That hurt so much. Am I bleeding? Do I have a concussion?"

Damian sneered and leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms. "One day, I'm going to be taller than you."

"I'd sue if that happened."

"Tt. Who?"

"You, Bruce, The League of Assassins."

"I'm sure _that_ would go over well."

He shrugged and went back to fiddling with his computer.

"Give me back my gauntlet."

"I'm busy."

Damian scowled and got up, stomping over to the bed and snatching his gauntlet back up. He put it on and leaned over Drake's shoulder. "With what? Failing to hack into the system?"

Damian smirked at the exasperated grunt Drake let out. "I'm not trying to hack into the system yet – I'm just testing it. I want to get a feel for the security – if it's like back home, I can be in within minutes. But I don't want to make any mistakes and tip them off to what I'm doing."

It made sense, but it was _boring_. Damian sighed and opened his mouth to tell Drake as much (it would really only serve to annoy him, but that was the point really), when a knock sounded through the room.

They both froze, eyes snapping to the door.

"Yeah?" Drake's voice was the same affected calm he always used when he was "over-compartmentalizing" (that's what the other's called it, at least; Damian would never admit it, but he wished he knew how to do it).

It was a travesty of his eldest brother's voice that responded (and it made Damian sick). "Everyone decent?"

The upbeat tone made Damian want to sink into the floor – made him wish they'd been sent anywhere but here (made him wish they were back home).

"Not quite." Drake said it easily enough, a slight smile on his face like Gray- _Robin_ had x-ray vision (but Damian could see the brittleness underneath). "Batman's here?"

"Yeah, with Green Lantern and Zatara to run some scans on you guys. I've got some clothes that should fit okay. We can get new ones later. I'll leave 'em outside the door; can you be ready in 10?"

That was a stupid question. Of course, they could. It was insulting to imply that they couldn't. (Maybe being offended would stop him from feeling so nauseated at the idea of there being a "later".)

"Thanks,' Drake said, slipping the computer back into his belt and pulling his cowl over his head.

"No problem."

Drake waited for 25 seconds (7 seconds longer than it would take for Robin to get out of sight range. Damian wondered if Drake was just being safe, or if he needed time to compose himself) before standing up, opening the door, and bringing in the clothes Robin had left behind for them.

"He left sunglasses, so we can ditch the masks, too."

Damian stared at him in disbelief. He crossed his arms. "I'm not wearing those."

Drake threw the clothes onto the bed, tugged his cowl down, and ran a hand through his hair. "Damian. If we go out there suited up, what message do you think we'd be sending?"

"The _right_ one."

"Outright hostility _isn't_ the right message to send to people who are trying to help us get back home."

Damian gritted his teeth and drew his shoulders back.

"No! Damian… no. I don't like it either, but we can't risk doing anything that might make them hesitate in helping us get back. Just- put on the clothes."

Drake turned around, shoulders taut as he began taking off his gloves.

Damian stared at Drake's back and set his jaw. (He knew… he knew that. He knew Drake was right. But… (He just wanted to go home.))

Damian inhaled deeply and cursed himself at the shuddering sound. Drake's movements stilled for a second, but it was enough to let Damian know he'd heard it. (Drake was the last person he wanted to be weak in front of. But better him than anyone out there.)

(He was just grateful Drake wasn't calling him out on it.)

Damian tugged off his gauntlets sharply and took of his cape. "I'm keeping my utility belt on."

Drake nodded. "That's a good idea. Wear it under the sweatshirt – it should be baggy enough to hide it."

Damian shifted slightly. "…Batman might notice."

"I doubt he'll be surprised." Drake's response was instantaneous – like he hadn't even stopped to think about what Damian had said. (Damian wished he didn't have to think about it).

(He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He couldn't-)

"Ready?" Drake asked, turning around and adjusting his sweatshirt over his belt.

Damian jolted and avoided eye contact. "Almost."

Damian finished getting dressed quickly, ignoring Drake as he gathered up the pieces of both of their uniforms and set them in the closet. (Grayson did that – picked up his uniform while Damian was changing into civilian clothes. It didn't matter how many times Damian told Grayson that he could pick up his own clothes – and that he _would_ once he finished changing.) (He didn't want to think about Grayson, but that looked like it was going to be impossible.)

There was another knock. "You guys ready?"

Damian wished they'd sent someone else.

"Yeah," Drake responded, rolling his shoulders and exhaling slightly. (He did that when he was preparing to be someone else. Someone who wasn't Red Robin or Tim Drake. It was a little interesting – not a lot because Drake and everything he did was boring – to watch him don a different persona. Damian wondered which one this would be.)

Drake turned to him and slid his sunglasses on. "Sunglasses make me look like a pretentious jerk."

"So, basically, they do nothing to change your appearance?"

Drake's scowled, but his stance shifted into something more relaxed, and Damian scoffed. He should have known Drake would never set himself up for an insult that obvious without an ulterior motive. (And while it was unnecessary for Drake to make sure he was okay (he was fine; _he had to be)_ Damian appreciated the thought.)

"Shall we?" Damian asked, slipping his glasses on and arching an eyebrow, knowing Drake would be able to tell.

He snorted in response. "Well, we wouldn't want to keep our hosts waiting."

There was a cold edge in Drake's otherwise perfectly polite tone, and it made Damian laugh softly.

He wasn't looking forward to this (it would be physically impossible for him to be _looking forward_ to this), but it was nice to know Drake wasn't going to go easy on them – in spite of all his talk about not antagonizing their "hosts".

(Damian really hoped they could survive this.)

(He wasn't sure he could.)

"Come on, brat."

Drake opened the door and greeted Robin. Damian steeled himself to face Grayson's smile on a face that wasn't his, but was met with Drake's back instead.

Something tight and hard and dangerously sharp softened in his chest.

He didn't need Drake's help ( _he didn't_ ), but Drake was offering it anyway. Quiet and subtle – the only way Damian could accept it from him.

(Damian didn't think he could get through this on his own, but Drake was standing here in front of him.)

(Maybe he could get through it like this.)

(He really hoped he could get through it like this. He didn't have any other options.)


End file.
